Namárië, Elessar
by Joannawrites
Summary: They paid the price now of loving him, the one that had been fated to leave them from the very first day. Arwen and Legolas say their goodbyes to Aragorn and to one another, as Legolas takes Arwen to Lothlorien to fade away.
1. Legacy

****

Namárië, Elessar

By Joanna

Written for The Tower of Ecthelion's May "In Memoriam" Fan Fiction Challenge. 

Title Translation: Farewell, King

Disclaimer: These characters are Tolkien's, and this story is drawn from Appendix A of the Lord of the Rings.

****

Chapter One: Legacy

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*

"I speak no comfort to you, for there is no comfort for such pain within the circles of the world." 

__

----Aragorn, _The Return of the King_

*~*~*~*

She fled, ever upward, on a secret path he had traveled long ago, climbing toward the sky, as if with some desperate hope that she might touch it, and find him again. 

Only the High Kings had come here, to the precipice she stepped upon now, and she stared out over what had been his, and hers, where she had spent the years of her life that truly mattered, laughing, rejoicing, grieving, and always, always loving. 

All the leagues below were of him; the mountains and the fields and the rivers, and the great stone city below her that the plains broke upon. He had united the people of Middle Earth. His people, his men, would have, and did at the darkest time, follow him unto the ends of the earth, for the simple, pure, and unending love of him.

Yes, he had been loved. Oh, how they had all loved him, and none so much as she. 

She had passed all the years' darkness in his arms, with the reassurance of the persistent thrumming of his heart just below her ear as he slept, and she had thought him to be everlasting and denied fiercely that this time would come, because there could be no world at all without him. 

She had been right. Her world had tilted, spun hard, and come apart at the seams. The land below was as barren as Mordor now. She could take no comfort from his city, his realm. The wind caressed her cheeks, but it offered her no reassurance either. She would never take ease in another touch again. 

Standing there, in this place where Gandalf had brought Aragorn as he rose to all his glory, she could feel it, the tremble of the earth beneath her and knew it was the hoof beats of horses long gone returning to the city one last time. Or were they departing? A clear note of memory fell upon her, like the silver trumpets that had always called him home to her. 

She closed her eyes, lifted her chin, and conjured the past.

How was it so easy to recall him sitting in a tree in Rivendell as a boy? Standing before her on the eve before he departed with the Fellowship, unsure of his task, of himself, of everything but his love for her and his desire for her to be safe. Waiting in his winged crown, so regal, so wise, for the first time believing that he was worthy of this city and of her, as she rode into Minas Tirith on the night they became man and wife? 

She could hear Eldarion's first cry and feel Aragorn's warm tears falling upon her face as he leaned to kiss her and his son for the first time. She could hear ringing of steel upon steel as he and Eowyn teasingly sparred in the Great Hall one winter almost ninety years before, while fires roared and the world outside swirled dizzily in a blizzard. See the pleasure in his face as he looked over the horses that had been a gift from Eomer. She could see him through the window of her chambers as he'd walked with Faramir in the early morning sunshine, discussing matters of State, or pretending to as they actually discussed the lore of old. It had been so good to see the two men of Gondor side by side, both so tall, so noble, so proud and wise and loving.

Riding through the gates with Legolas at his side, both of them laughing from their adventures and the absolute ease of friendship and brotherhood they shared. At each other's elbows, over the years, they'd almost lost the need of words. Staggering into their chambers after a night of drinking ale with Gimli. Smiling with pride as Merry and Pippin told him their tales of war, or as he held Sam's children. Forehead creased in concern as he watched Frodo for signs of the old injury. Beaming as he watched Gliriel canter for the first time on her pony, Eldarion's arrow find its home in a target. Trying to smile through his tears as he passed Imeren's hand to the man she had chosen, the son of Faramir who bore the name of his fallen brother. The terrible loss and knowledge in his eyes as he stood first at Eomer's burial, then at Eowyn's royal funeral and again at Faramir's. And so many since then.

She could still see every expression, every line of his face, every facet of his eyes clearly. And still she knew the memories would never be enough, not for she who had known the sound of his voice roughened with sleep and the touch of silk in his battle scarred hands. 

It was why she had been unable to leave Middle Earth with her father. Because she would not live with only a memory of Aragorn's love.

Memories, it seemed, were all that remained. Faramir had passed from the world nearly forty years past, and dear, beautiful little Eowyn five years before that. Legolas had been scarce in recent years, and she knew that it troubled him to see that time was marking Aragorn for her own and that soon she would claim him. Gimli was getting on in years and could not travel so easily. The Hobbits no longer made the journey from the Shire. 

They were all still so near to her, and him most of all, yet the distance was one she could not traverse. She saw his face as he rode into Rivendell, into Lorien, into Gondor, to wherever she was. He'd always come home to her. She had always greeted him, always had been there upon his arrival, taking the reins of his horse as, with sunlight in his eyes, he had smiled down at her in the special way that had always been only for her and no other. 

The pictures of him in her mind were so real, so clear, that he seemed to ride upon the very wind rushing past her, and she thought that if she moved quickly enough, she might seize him back.

But he was lost to her, and though the very air was filled with him, the one that had given such shades of meaning to her life was gone, and she felt herself hollowing, felt emptiness spreading from the center of her and outward. 

"Mother?"

She turned slowly from her place at the edge of the mountain, and felt some cross of pain and pride tighten her chest as her son paused in the clearing, looking uncertain. Just now he had such a look of his father, a look Aragorn had often given her when she tried to assure him that there was no weakness in his blood all those years ago, before he had proven it to himself at last. 

Words were too hard at this moment, she realized as she faced him, her throat ached far too much for speech. She had sent for him, had left word for him to meet her here. 

She did not know if she had a goodbye left within her; and here was the one that mattered most. Yet, the words she had to say to him, she could not. 

Not when he stood before her, uncertainty and fear and grief still burning in eyes that were his father's, as well as a new knowledge that he was to lose her as well.

"You are leaving Gondor." It was not a question, not an accusation, but an accepted fact. Eldarion's sharp gray eyes did not give her quarter as he walked to join her. 

Wordlessly, she looked out upon the city and nodded, as the first tear, hot and stinging, coursed down her cheek. Guilt and shame alike washed through her. She had not the strength to stay here. Not even for her children, those three miracles borne of the love between she and Aragorn. Because though they had her love, Aragorn had always been her soul, even before she had lay eyes upon him, he had been destiny to her, the beginning and ending of all things. And she had not the desire, the strength, nor the will to discover what was beyond him. 

"I miss him, Mother," Eldarion said simply, and his tears swelled and glittered, cradled upon his dark lashes. "I try to imagine how it must be, for you. And though I would have you here with me, I would not ask it. Because I see the light in your eyes has died away and that you cannot remain here. Feel no sorrow for me, Mother. I will grieve, but time shall heal me and I shall know joy again."

"And I shall not," Arwen observed aloud Eldarion's unspoken words. 

He tried to turn them away. "There is hope of better times, of joy. Always, there is hope. You have taught me that for all my years."

And at that moment, and for the first time in her life, she understood Gilraen, Aragorn's mother, and her utter loss of hope. Even in the darkest hours of the world, Arwen had clung to hope, refusing to relinquish it and scorning as fools those who would. Only now could she appreciate the strength of a mother who had gone on for so many years after the loss of the one she loved, one of the men of Aragorn's bloodline. She had chosen to live and she had raised her son until he stood alone. 

Arwen wondered, if her own son still had need of her, could she stay even then? She did not know the answer with certainty. All she knew was that Gilraen had remained. 

She was blind with her tears as she gave her son bitter words once uttered by Eldarion's grandmother to Aragorn, but she gave them gently, as she stepped forward and lay her hand against his strong cheekbone. "Onen i-Estel Edain, u-chebin estel anim.*" 

Eldarion's hand rose and held hers against his face, hard, and she knew he understood what her words meant, that soon she would pass from the circles of the world in search of whatever hope she might find beyond it. 

He then bowed his Kingly head, and his shoulders heaved in a great sob and Arwen's tears broke like a river unleashed as she stepped forward to take her son into her arms. Could this be the same boy that she'd once held in her hands, the same tiny child that had come to them in the aftermath of the bloody war? 

This man, this King of Men, who was his father's image had also learned his father's patience and wisdom and charity. And his honor. But perhaps what would remain Aragorn's true legacy, Eldarion was of a heart as loving, as loyal, as fiercely unselfish as the Elessar's. Men adored Eldarion and would follow him, as they had followed his father, to whatever fate.

And now Eldarion turned that selfless love upon Arwen, and gave her understanding when she was full of doubt and defeat for leaving him. And finally, Arwen realized that she did not hold her son in comfort; her son held her. 

At last they quelled their tears, and stood together, hand in hand and looked out over Gondor.

"Your father stood here, just where you stand now, as he took this Kingdom. This city of men has risen above all, but it is not the end. You will face danger and dissent, and possibly wars of your own, but you will prevail because you walk in the light and you understand the hearts of men. Because you know the good and the promise that is in man, even more than your father did as he stood here with Gandalf. Because you understand that love will always outlast hatred." 

"Look at it, Mother. Look at what he has built," Eldarion said with wonder, "at what you both have built together."

"We built it for you. It is yours now, Eldarion. All of it, to rule as you think best. In this you will not fail, for you have his blood running strong in your veins, and his voice in your heart, and in your eyes there is wisdom and grace and honor that is all your own. For all of your father's great deeds, for all his victories and quests and adventures, you and your sisters were what he found the most reward in. You are his true legacy. In you, he lives. I see him looking out from your eyes. My dear son, you are beautiful and you are strong, and you are of he and I, and there are no words for the love that I bear you. For the love that he bore you." 

"There is no need of words, Mother. For always, always have I known it. And never will I forget the love you both gave to me, but perhaps what I will remember most of all is the love you bore for one another. Never was there such a love in all the world. Never will there be again."

Her son was a King. She had taught him what complete and utter love was, had taught him the cost and the reward of it.

Arwen knew then, with certainty, that her task and her purpose in this place was ended.

*

Eldarion stayed with her until at last, she sent him away to his duties, and when he went his shoulders were square and broad and his head high, and he did not look back, save once, just before he bent a corner and passed from her sight.

He looked so tall and strong and young, as the wind swept his dark hair across his forehead and clung to his damp cheeks, and his hand was set upon his sword hilt just so, as Aragorn's forever was. For a moment, she might have been looking at Estel as she had the day she knew she would build a life with him, as he stood in Lothlorien clad in elven white. 

She blinked frantically as tears blinded her sight of him, and as her vision cleared, he was gone down his path. 

Much later, after he had climbed to the bottom of the mountain, she saw him racing across the plain upon his horse and heard the faint trumpet call as the Tower Guard welcomed him back to the city that was now his own. The white walls of the city took him in, and so was the last sight she had of her son in this world. 

When the wind had dried her final tears, she turned from her last view of the city of Men and made her way back down the mountain paths. As she came to the foot of it, she saw a horse coming toward her at full gallop, and when she recognized the rider, everything within her stilled.

There were still goodbyes left to say after all. And how did one say four thousand years worth of goodbye to another who would be as lost, as hopeless, as grieved as she? 

Legolas had come to her at last.

*

*Title Translation: Farewell, King.

*Translation (from Appendix A): I gave Hope to the Dunedain, I have kept no hope for myself. 


	2. Gift of Man

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Namárië, Elessar

By Joanna

Written for The Tower of Ecthelion's May "In Memoriam" Fan Fiction Challenge. 

**Chapter Two: Gift of Man**

*~*~*~*~*

"We are not bound for ever to the circles of the wold, and beyond them is more than memory."

----Aragorn, _The Return of the King_

*~*~*~*~* 

Legolas charged his mount to her and pulled the stallion to an abrupt halt above her, throwing dirt upon her skirts. Her hand unconsciously rose to the horse's high crested neck and she stared hard at the animal for a moment, unable to bring herself to raise her eyes.

"Arwen," he whispered at last, and his voice was raw and uneven, and reluctantly, she lifted her gaze. 

It was as if she was forced to look into a mirror and to see her own grief for the first time, and it was a terrible, terrible sight. It was frightening to witness grief so deep and complete, and to know it was as her own. She could not bear it for herself; she certainly could not bear it for her oldest and most cherished friend. 

His eyes seemed vacant, empty windows with no light from within at all. His youthful face seemed so no longer, lines bracketed his mouth and sunken eyes hard. His brow was furrowed deeply, as if in great confusion.

Legolas, she felt certain, had known the moment of Aragorn's death from afar, even before the messengers had reached him. Had known it, but had not believed it. Had been unable to comprehend his knowledge.

No longer. She knew from the look on his face that he'd already been to the city and had stood at Aragorn's splendid tomb and seen with his own eyes the finality of it all, as heavy and solid as the stone that embraced the dead King. 

He was lost, as she was. Without direction, and she could not give him purpose any more than he could she, and he knew it as she knew and it was a bitter lesson for them both.

Always, always since they had known him, they had shared a love for Aragorn, a complete and undying love, as only elves are able to give. And they paid the price now, of giving it to one who had left them, the one who had been fated to leave them from the very first day. 

Tears rolled down his cheeks rapidly, replaced by newer, more bitter ones as soon as they fell from the sharp line of his jaw. He shook his head slightly at her and held out his hands as if to ask her why, or as if to admit some final defeat. 

She stepped to his side and took his hand and buried her face in it, and her tears slipped through his fingers and were greedily taken by the dust of Gondor. 

With his other hand he stroked her hair and then lifted her chin, and she looked into his damp eyes and she nodded and allowed him to pull her onto the horse before him.

He would see her safe to Lothlorien. Aragorn would have wanted it that way.

*

Eldarion, from high in the citadel, with his youngest sister at his side, watched as a horse raced across the plains, not for the city but from it. 

The riders' hair whipped like golden and ebony flames behind them, and not once did they slow down, not once did they hesitate or look back.

And neither Eldarion nor Gliriel, nor any who watched the going of their beloved Queen and their King's most trusted and well-loved friend, were certain if Arwen and Legolas were running away from Aragorn, or desperately chasing after him. 

At last, the riders passed into the shadow of the mountains and were lost from even the keenest sight. Eldarion had just turned from the window, when from the tower a single blast of trumpet rang out boldly, and that note reached far into the heart of Gondor and hung upon the air longer than any call from the city had before that day, haunting and somber.

Eldarion bowed his head further.

"Goodbye," he said softly into the air.

*

There was a last lonely cry of farewell, and both Arwen and Legolas heard it well as they fled, and the wind did not move past them quickly enough to dry their mingled tears. 

*

They traveled paths that had once been fraught with grave danger, paths where the Fellowship's footsteps had fallen, when they had been so young, and brave, and had refused to accept the coming of darkness, even faced with their impossible task.

At last, Arwen and Legolas came to Lorien, and still neither had spoken a word, though they had ridden with their arms about one another for strength. 

The wood too, was dead. Haunted, some said, and none dared cross the old borders of the elves. The trees, with none to walk below them, with none to admire them, had seemingly given up hope of their own, spearing the sky like high, broken swords of warriors long lost upon battlefields below. 

Pulling his horse to a stop, Legolas climbed slowly down and then reached for Arwen, lifting her from the horse and setting her upon her feet. 

His sorrow at this last goodbye was too deep and complete to be released from him in simple tears. His tears were spent and this sadness would never be lifted. His last sight of her would be a clear one.

The Evenstar was broken, darkened, lost to Middle Earth forever. Lost to him forever. Just as Aragorn was. He was a warrior, and he recognized a fatal blow when he was dealt one.

He would go to the Havens now, and find what measure of peace he could. It was understood between them, without words, that he would go to Eldarion, that he would be certain that Aragorn's son had no need of his service before he departed. He had never once asked her to come to the Havens, never tried to find a way. 

He understood, even as she understood, the finality of her choices. She would not live without him. She'd made that decision almost two hundred years past. And she had held to it, even when the odds of building a life and love together had seemed infinitely small. 

She would not go back on that now; to do so would be ridiculous and belittling of the promise she had made to herself and to Aragorn. 

And so it was that Legolas leaned forward and kissed her upon the brow, then lightly upon the lips, and he held to her hard for a moment, unwilling to let her go. She who had been such a part of his life, she who had ever been smiling and alight with hope and love and goodness. 

He suddenly did not think he had the strength to let her go, and yet he did not wish to add to her burden by asking her to stay, by falling upon his knees and begging her not to leave him alone as he desired to.

He asked the Valar for the courage to hold onto his terror and to curb the selfish desperation that gave him such need to throw her upon the horse and take her back with him, to force her to live again. For him. 

Arwen stepped away first, bringing a slim hand to touch his cheek in fondness, for she loved him still, and he knew that even as her heart had been torn away, that remained.

She turned and walked away, and it was far too late for backwards glances. She pulled the hood of her cloak close around her face, walked into and merged with the mists lingering there with the rotting trees. 

He could see her shifting shape as it was enveloped in the fog, and he stared after her long, long after she had faded completely from his keen elf eyes, eyes that had seen too clearly the pain she was in. 

And standing there alone, Legolas bowed his head and gave thanks to the Valar for the two friends who had loved him, and whom he had loved so well and so long. 

Then, he left Arwen in the Lady's woods because it was what she wished, and he turned to find the way home. 

*

She went to the hill where they'd made promises to one another, and with the heat of Legolas' lips still lingering upon her brow, a tiny brand to carry with her, the last touch of another she would have upon Middle Earth, she lay herself down and she waited. 

For the first time in her life, time seemed to stretch, rather than stealthily absorb the moments between her heartbeats, until she felt she had stayed there for an eternity, apart from him. 

But not even so worthy a foe as time may win over loves that will not respectfully bow to the boundaries of hours and days and years and ages, and at last, below her, the earth trembled again, and she raised her head slowly.

She saw him there, riding through the mists, and as his horse climbed the hill, a single shaft of sunlight pierced the clouds and fell into his eyes and Arwen stood and greeted him as ever she had, and he smiled down upon her easily, young again. 

He reached for her hand, and she was afraid to take it. Afraid he would slip away, like the mist through her fingertips and that would be a blow too bitter for her to withstand. 

But he called her name, and she had never had the power to refuse him, and when her hand met his, his fingers closed around her, warm and strong. She understood the gift of man at last.

Joy and peace and relief swelled within her to such proportions that she wondered if there was any way to contain it, or if it would simply dissolve the limits of her and scatter her to the wind. 

"Estel," she whispered as he pulled her upon the horse before him. "I have come home." 

And in escaping the circle of the world, she completed her own. 

*******

*Title Translation: Farewell, King.


End file.
